


Hold

by amycooper



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Sherlock Holmes has a nightmare, minor hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycooper/pseuds/amycooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairly early on in their partnership, Watson learns Holmes has a few demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold

I couldn’t help but smile when I lowered my paper to discover that the rhythmic motions of the train had lulled Holmes to sleep. Gingerly I reached for the cigarette that had burned down nearly to his long pale fingers. I managed to pull it out of his weak grasp without either burning myself or waking my friend from his slumbers. Once I had snuffed it out, I resumed reading the papers and idly wondered if that ghastly business Lincolnshire would be in the papers by the time we made it to London. After two dangerous and exhausting weeks Holmes and I rescued Mr. Hartford’s ransomed family, but alas not in time to save the mother. When we found her…

I shuddered and returned to my paper, hoping vainly to remove the image from my mind, though I knew it would haunt me to the end of my days. Holmes, however, seemed unshaken, a reasoning machine.

It was then that I heard the noise; it was a soft but sharp sound like an injured animal. I lowered my paper. To my great astonishment, I found Holmes’ face twisted with a tormented grimace. He shifted restlessly in his seat and as he moaned again, his arms rose before him, as if to fend off an unseen assailant. 

I tossed my paper aside. “Holmes,” I reached to shake him. “Wake up! You are dreaming.”

At my touch, Holmes immediately sprung, like a cornered beast forced to fight for its survival. He lunged, pushing me into the cabin wall and knocking the air out of my stomach. For a moment I was helplessly dazed as he attacked, his blows strong but lacking the direction and focus of a conscious mind. 

“Holmes.” I wheezed, sucking air into my lungs while attempting to restrain him-in vain! Finally, with little other option I struck him, and with not an inconsiderable force. Holmes shouted in pain as he sagged to the floor. 

For a moment we stayed in place, I still wheezing and he shaking his head with a moan, now the dazed one. After a moment he began to become aware of his surroundings and a look of horror grew upon his face as he realized what just took place.

“Watson, I-”

“You two there!” The train conductor barged in, interrupting. “Break it up! No fighting on the train!”

“We weren’t!” Holmes and I protest in unison. 

“The damned you weren’t! You’re off at the next station.”

All attempts to defend ourselves failed. It didn’t help that Holmes’ cheek was already sporting a bruise and I am quite sure I looked no better. And so Holmes and I found ourselves deposited on a station platform a good twelve miles from London. In silence we watched the train pull out and disappear in the distance.

Holmes turned to me and I was appalled, not at the bruise on his cheek, but at the lost look in his eyes. 

“Watson, I must-”

“No.” I was firm.

“But-”

“No. Holmes there is absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

“I hurt you.”

A few responses filtered through my mind, finally deciding to downplay the event, I shrugged. “I handled the situation in the end Holmes.”

“That isn’t exactly the point Watson.”

“It might help if you talked about it.”

Holmes shook his head, “No, it was nothing.”

“It didn’t feel like nothing.” I rubbed my side in jest, but Holmes’ eyes darkened so I quickly add, “Really, Holmes, I am fine. Please, tell me your dream, if you wish to make amends, Holmes, you can do so by telling me what upset you so.”

Holmes remained silent and I sighed, interpreting his silence as refusal. 

“I dreamt about the case.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft and small. “It brought back…” He gave a frustrated sigh and kicked at the ground.

I held out my arm. “It is a long walk home, Holmes.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he took my arm and we began our stroll towards London with Holmes unburdening himself in hushed tones.


End file.
